


Don't Let Him Waste Your Time.

by The_Professional (b0w1e)



Category: British musician RPF, Britpop - Fandom, jarvis cocker - Fandom
Genre: Carsex, F/M, That's all I'm going to say.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 08:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30102915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b0w1e/pseuds/The_Professional
Summary: What might have happened if she had actually been won over by the song, which, to be fair, any sane person would - or should - be.
Relationships: Jarvis Cocker/Original Character(s)





	Don't Let Him Waste Your Time.

It had been an awful night. Even by your standards. 

You didn’t really realise it until you were stood on your own, in an empty South London street, lit by a solitary streetlamp, the freezing wind whipping up around you, lashes of cold rain against your already-damp face. You didn’t know what to do. Your brain went into autopilot as you hailed a nearby taxi (a gift from God, you later realised) and climbed in, shivering. As soon as you got in, you shut your eyes, and let out a breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding. How did it come to this? How did you even get here? How-

‘Where’re we off to then, love?’ 

A deep, Northern voice interrupted your spiralling thoughts. You opened your eyes with a start, little to no memory of ever getting in the car. The driver looked at you through the rear-view mirror. You forced your brain to remember. 

‘Umm.. Brunswick - yeah, Brunswick Greene..’

It had to be home. There was no point going anywhere else; there was nowhere else to go. You sighed again, resisting the urge to check your mobile: you knew exactly what it was going to say anyway. Various exclamations of anger, shock, hurt - and all of them your fault. Probably. But it was all too much to deal with right now. Too cold, too wet, too tired-

‘Had a nice night?’

A deceptively simple question. Looking back, you could’ve just said ‘Fine’ and perhaps nothing would’ve ever happened. But instead, you looked at the mirror for a second too long and said with a mellowing, heavy sigh: 

‘..I’ve had better.’ 

You hurriedly wiped damp eyes, hoping he couldn’t see. No need for **everyone** to know about it. Besides, you were rock ‘n roll - _oh_ , he’s looking at you again. A slightly amused expression played on his features. He wasn’t your typical cab driver: clean-shaven, glasses, early forties but easily looked younger. Interesting haircut and dress sense - no cab driver you’d ever seen before wore a burgundy corduroy blazer on the job, or at all. You got the impression he had ‘seen it all’ but still regained a sense of youth; something about his greeny-blue eyes just made him seem like a kid, like someone you could tell anything to - and they’d just listen and understand..

You raised an eyebrow back at him. It didn’t take much to win you over. Then he said, reading your mind:

‘D’you wanna talk about it?’ 

And then the floodgates opened and you told him all about your shitty college and indifferent parents and the disgusting men in pubs and people who _just don’t get it_ and the horrible weather and running out of money and having nowhere to go and no one to talk to - at which point you suddenly stopped, air buzzing with anger and desperation around you. He nodded slowly, processing the torrent of colourful words that had just mildly assaulted his ears. Then he reached towards the stereo with one impossibly long finger and played a song that changed your mind - about life, about him, about everything.

Though he didn’t say it, it didn’t take a genius to work out it was him singing on the record - and boy, what a record! You could almost see the disco ball revolving as the streetlamps flickered past. He turned around every once in a while and sang directly to **you** \- while you kept reminding him in increasingly panicked tones to pay attention to the road. Despite the scary feeling that you might die that night, something shifted inside you the more he looked into your eyes: something big and whole that ached inside your chest. 

By the end of the song, the journey was finished and you pulled up at the end of your street feeling like no time had passed at all. You weren’t superstitious, but you felt something close to magic had been created in those 4 minutes or so in that cab. You were still revelling in it when he turned around for a final time, his chestnut hair flicking over his face. 

‘That’ll be 9.50, love.’ 

You blamed what happened next on the sheer craziness of the night - there seemed no other logical explanation. It all became very, very simple. You handed over a tenner and noticed the light shining onto his face from the bright moon above, and as he was asking whether you wanted a receipt, you felt an overwhelming urge to **kiss** this man and so he turned around to hand you the paper and found your soft, sweet lips on his, to his surprise and secret delight: you were by no means unattractive, even through your almost-tears which had never quite left you since you’d explained everything. 

After the initial shock had worn off, his experience showed through and his arm crept round your shoulders and while you relaxed into him and started to enjoy it - **really** enjoy it, your head dizzying with lust and an intense tingly shock that started in the centre of your chest - also lust - and crept slowly down your arms and stomach before settling between your legs as he licked the inside of your mouth hotly while your hand slid up his neck and fondled his soft hair brushing the collar of his jacket. 

Everything just.. seemed to fit - it had turned from shit into gold in a matter of minutes, and all because of one pretty night-changing decision to put your mouth on this man’s. You moaned slightly against his mouth, unable to keep yourself from shifting on the seat; all those nerves, fears, emotions, being released - shared - with him, like a weight lifting off you with every soft caress he gave - with a tenderness about them that no one else, it seemed, had ever given you. 

‘Uhh.. ohhh-’

You felt your heart beat faster - even though you thought it was already about to burst out of your chest and make a mess all over the seats - as he held you gently by the shoulders and looked at you properly for a second; his delicate, unique face no more than 20cm from yours. It felt like the whole world stopped and held its breath as you looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Whatever he was about to say was going to be important, you just knew it.

‘Come home with me tonight.’

They were, quite possibly, the best five words you’d ever heard. 

This man, he wasn’t like the others. He didn’t want to hurt you, or mess you around, or treat you like garbage. Because he recognised the look on your face: he’d seen it a thousand times before in his bathroom mirror, in shop windows where people rushed past without a second glance, in the reflections in his plastic champagne glass in a sweaty club he really felt he didn’t belong in anymore. Because he was lonely too. 

Love was both the problem and the solution: the lack met the equal surplus like the ‘unstoppable force’ meeting the ‘unbelievable object’ - you wondered where you’d heard that before, but not for long as you were soon distracted by his kisses again. Full, wet, sensual, feverishly hot against your cool skin: you knew he just **got it** as his hands reached over the seat to stroke the curves beneath your jacket longingly. 

A soft, pleasurable sigh left his mouth which was now pressed close to your ear, his warmth radiating into you and you pulled him closer by the lapels and squeezed your legs tighter together - he saw this, and smiled slightly before pulling away completely. A sickening moment passed. You’d immediately regretted the whole thing, thinking you’d got it all wrong, before you noticed him opening the back door and climbing in next to you, a kind of wonderfully dirty delight on his face. 

Even in the dim moonlight, you could see his hard-on and **god** , didn’t it turn you on. You felt it under soft trousers and watched him shift and whimper somewhat uncontrollably at your touch. He looked ethereally beautiful; hair curling around his face, soft, slow hands reaching out for your body, a slight blush upon his cheeks as you teased the front of his trousers with one finger tantalizingly. You wondered, if he was already this turned on just by the suggestion of more, what was going to happen when you got home - then a twinge under your hand that made you forget all about going anywhere right then, except deeper into his pants. **God** , _you’d_ be hard if you could: a spine-tingling mix of lust, nerves, and that slick feeling between your legs prompted you to half-moan, half-whisper out:

‘What - tell me - what you want - D’you - d’you want me, yeah?’

He held your ass and breathed softly into your mouth between kisses:

‘Ohh.. yeah, fuck - I want you - I want you - I want - you!’

With that, you climbed on top of him, delightful pressure building up as you sat facing him on his lap, your bodies pressed together. His warm, wet, tongue ran up your neck and you sighed in something near total amazement as he started to move his hips up to meet yours, all other thoughts forgotten. You let out a laboured breath as he laid you both down on the back seat and wrapped his legs around yours. The feeling of his crotch pressing into you was utterly divine and he obviously thought so too:

‘Mmm.. might just.. fuck you right here..’

You wanted him to keep talking, keep talking in that incredible, deep, sexy whisper until you were **completely** under his control - you didn’t even care that **you** were usually the one initiating things - your eyelids half-closed in an almost trance, until your whole, pliable body was reduced to nothing but a lithe, slippery, mess of-

‘Ohh - I’ve wanted - I wanted you - the second you got in this car..’

He groaned, breathing heavily into your neck as his fingertips, feather-light, brushed down your exposed stomach, leaving an electrified trail of nerves tingling in their wake. His tapered fingers reached their sticky destination - now the fun was to begin. But first he lifted his head and gave you a look of such longing and satisfaction that a sound you’d never even heard before rose up inside you, a sort of half-yelp of delight and half-moan of ‘ohgodIwantyou!’ that caught his attention as it left your mouth and sounded out loudly against the night. His breathing quietened for a moment and he pressed a gorgeous, intoxicating kiss to your slightly swollen lips that made your head spin with its intensity. 

Then, despite both reeling a little, his delightful fingers began to **move** between your legs and he started to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as a slow, sexy song started on the car stereo. Soon though, he seemed to fall victim to his own desire, and, unable to wait any longer, moved his hand away to fumble with his flies, sighing desperately on top of you. You too, wanted more and brought a finger up to stroke the sweaty strands of hair away from his damp forehead, while still pressing your body up against his. 

Your thighs were soft and smooth as he spread them slowly, curling them around his slim hips. His warm hands, removing your underwear - he looked at you before proceeding, biting his bottom lip at how hard he was. You nodded quickly, wanting him more than ever. Then, burying his face in your neck, you felt his fingers being replaced with tantalizingly slow thrusts of his cock inside you. Bit by bit, his smooth length entered you until all you could think about was the warm, incredibly, **brilliantly** tight feeling and how he filled you up **so well** \- you sighed as it grew and grew and grew and all you wanted was **more** and a beautifully strangled, high-pitched moan left his lips as he **gave** you more, **harder! faster!** Oh God, he’s so **sexy** like this - hot and wet and quietly loud and he **loves** it, he **loves** that he’s fucking you, a girl he met not half an hour ago, in the back of this cab on an empty London street in the dead of night, but that feels like he’s been waiting his entire life for this, for you - for **you**..

\---

‘..ohh.. wow.. umm, thanks..’

Afterwards, you lay sprawled across the seats, limbs entangled. Words of hushed praise and flattery were spoken quietly with glowing reverence between the rise and fall of your chests. A beautiful dark patch, no bigger than a fingertip, was beginning to flourish on his left collarbone, peeking out from beneath his shirt, which he’d hastily pulled over you both in the slight chill of the car. An almost-innocent expression appeared on his face as he saw it - as if he needed anything to remember **you** by. 

Without thinking, he found your hand and held it affectionately in his. You rested your head against his chest, looking up at the stars out the cab window. Now everything was quiet again. It was nice. 

‘I’m Jarvis.’

You looked at him and smiled. 

‘Sara.’

A beat passed, then he shifted onto his side, flicking his hair out of his eyes while doing so, and said, holding your shoulders again:

‘Well, then, _Sara_ , shall we go home?’

‘..I think we shall, _Jarvis_.’

A slight smirk appeared on your face, then his as he asked incredulously ‘What?’. You said nothing and just grinned at all the formalities that seemed absurd now, considering you were literally lying naked except for a pair of socks on a taxi seat with a man you _hardly knew_ , you realised, but that you already liked so much and that just made it funnier. 

‘This is no laughing matter..’

He said in mock-seriousness, curling his leg around you suggestively once again. 

‘D’you know how hard it is.. to get pretty girls to come home with me, little.. lady..?’ 

His tone was light, but the question was punctuated with hot kisses that wiped the smirk off your face, alright.

‘Judging from experience.. not hard at all.’

That made him laugh as he sat up and pulled his shirt on; then he climbed back into the the driver’s seat and said, smiling:

‘Take that’ - he threw you a soft blanket from the seat in front - ‘and come up here.’ 

You pulled on your underwear before tiptoeing out, avoiding part of a puddle as you opened the door and sat down next to him, grimacing slightly at your cold feet. He put the car in gear and looked around for traffic (there was none) but he hesitated before leaving the lay-by, then reached out and stroked your cheek with his thumb and murmured, almost inaudibly: 

‘God, how lucky am I?’

Had it been any other occasion, or any other guy, you might have cringed slightly at the sentiment, professed all too often as a cheesy pick-up line by greased-up young lads hoping to find a nice shag for the night. Along the lines of ‘Did it hurt? ..When you fell from heaven?’ But he said it in such a serious, thoughtful way that gave you an insight into his private thoughts, almost: you could tell he genuinely couldn’t believe it. It, like many things that night, made your heart melt a little at his sweetness, and you looked down and smiled, now feeling oddly shy after the passion of a few minutes before.

‘..aww, you - you don’t give yourself enough credit... Little boys are overrated, anyway..’ 

That last bit was more to yourself than anyone else, your thoughts now returning to the earlier events that had brought you here in the first place. Your phone beeped on the back seat, the display lighting up the car slightly. He didn’t even need to say anything, just a slight inclination of his head and you nodded, eyes glued to your damp feet in front of you. He gave your hand a squeeze and you were surprised at how much you missed the sensation when he took his hand away again. Then you remembered what was going to happen, how you could, in fact, get to touch him again in a matter of minutes, and hopefully on a bed this time and-

‘Let’s go.’ 

He pulled out of the lay-by and set off towards a nicer part of town, somewhere you weren’t unfamiliar with but had never felt at home there. As if you could call your cold, dingy flat home either. You knew you couldn’t face that lonely, grubby window again tonight, no matter how many times you tried to clean it. There, there was no option but to sit in front of it and watch the torrents of icy rain pour down and ponder sadly over life and death and whatever was supposed to be in between - but what you didn’t know was how many times others (more specifically, the man next to you) had sat there in front of a slightly cleaner (but no less lonely) one and wondered the exact same thing. 

You managed to find your shoes before you arrived, and made to get mostly dressed but realised how warm you were under just the blanket and decided not to bother. You were right in not bothering, it turned out, as the second he pulled up in front of a modest semi-detached house he said ‘Wait there!’ before climbing out and coming round to your side - skinny, bare legs moving hastily in the cold night air - and scooped you up in the blanket, carrying you with slight inexpertise to the front door, where he stood, fumbling with the key, until you, still in his arms, laughed and said ‘Give it ‘ere!’ The door now unlocked, you both stumbled inside where he put you down gently on the carpet and shut out the night. The hallway was gently lit and smelled slightly of oranges. 

A moment passed. 

‘You didn’t have to do that, y’know.’

‘Well,’ he shrugged shyly. ‘S’romantic. And - no shoes!’ 

He looked down at your silver converse. ‘-oh.’

‘Never mind.’ you said, cupping his cheek in your hand. ‘It _was_ romantic - thank you.’

He smiled and your heart melted just a little bit more. His arms tightened around you for a second as you gave him a soft kiss, then he seemed to remember where you were and the childish twinkle returned to his eyes as he took your hand and half-ran towards the low-lit stairway, saying enthusiastically ‘C’mon, c’mon!’ 

You couldn’t help but laugh: he even ran like a kid, all bouncy, and the haphazardly buttoned shirt and lack of any trousers only confirmed your suspicions - that he was, in fact, utterly gorgeous - as you climbed the stairs, blanket trailing behind you, not wishing you were anywhere else but here, with this sweet guy, right now. 

Your phone was left in the car; you didn’t care anyway. 

\---

Your lips met the second you entered the room - they’d been apart far too long - and you collapsed together on the bed, safe and warm and blissfully happy. The room, like the rest of the house, was dimly lit and lavishly decorated with various fabrics, items, old magazines, oddly-shaped furniture: it was all there, and at the centre of it all?

A strangely, uniquely beautiful man with soft brown hair and a smile that seemed to soften all parts of you as you felt it under your lips, stroking a smooth part of his jaw where stubble was yet to appear. Eyelashes fluttered coyly as you discovered each other’s bodies again, after having met so briefly before. Every touch he gave this time though told you there was no need to rush, no pressure to perform, just relax. What astounded you, however, as you licked his ear as gently as possible (which made him shiver slightly - **God** , that was hot) was simply how utterly smooth and flawless his entire body was - you marvelled at it just like he marvelled at the full, firm yet gorgeously soft sensation of your breasts under his hands like a warm pillow, but rounder, and- and more like tits..

As you slipped further into the early hours, everything began to take on an ethereal blue haze. The soft kisses he pressed all down your chest felt like something holy, like something worthy of worship, and you wanted to make sure he felt the same. Everything seemed to go into slow-motion. You held him, just **held** his cheek in one gentle hand and his cock in the other, because it was special and private and beautiful. You sat facing each other on the bed, completely naked, but taking the time to appreciate each other (while slowly coaxing him to hard again, of course) unlike before. 

He lowered his head as his sighs turned into moans; your touch being so sweet he was now the one literally melting in your arms. The pillows might as well have been marshmallow as you laid down together, his head resting between your breast and shoulder, fitting so well it was like it was always meant to be there. You thought you might fall asleep (fair enough, it was 3am) if it wasn’t for his erection pressing temptingly into your thigh. No words were spoken, it felt too vulnerable for that, but instead you ran your hand slowly, luxuriously down his back as he repositioned himself and kissed you gorgeously, hands tangling in your dark hair, while beginning to thrust into you. **God** , this was even better than the first time; it felt so incredibly natural, as if you were doing it in the sky, among the stars. You were already so close to getting off - and he was too - so that it didn’t take long, just a few wonderfully **slippery** jerks of him _inside_ you: and then you could **see** those stars in front of your eyes, stars of astronomical levels of bliss, if only for a few moments, but **god** : the look on his face was worth it, for sure.

(Though you’d both never admit it, your eyes were a little wet at how brilliant you’d just made the other feel. It had been pretty phenomenal.)

Then he kissed you a final goodnight, a proper long one, mind, before settling back on the creamy pillows and shutting his eyes. A couple of seconds passed.

‘..you’re not going anywhere tonight..’

You turned to look back at him from the other side of the bed, where you had been pulling on your clothes again. He opened one eye and took in your ruffled hair and unsure expression - you had never done this before, and it showed. He smiled and said ‘Come ‘ere.’ 

‘You really think I’m going to let you suffer out there..’ 

He shifted on the bed and wrapped his arms around you, then inclined his head towards the window, where the ever-present rain was now increasingly audible against the pane.

‘..especially.. after what you’ve just done for me..’

Alright, fuck it. You weren’t going home - ever. You wrapped your arms around him in return, intensely grateful. He snuggled closer and stroked your head softly while whispering in your ear, as if nothing and nobody else existed in the world at that moment: 

‘Ahh.. that’s better. You didn’t want to go home anyway, did you? No, stay here.. with me.. it’s a lot nicer in the morning, I promise..’

You laughed quietly and buried your head in his shoulder once more.

‘I think I might love you, y’know.’ 

The casualness and absurdity of the situation meant that you didn’t mean it seriously; it was just something sweet to say in the moment. 

He understood, smiled and said, into your hair: 

‘Me too.’

**Author's Note:**

> 2nd and final draft finished: 8/3/21
> 
> Inspired by the DLHWYT video, if you hadn’t already guessed. 
> 
> Littered with other pulp references too - and an obscure Peep Show one, in case anyone else under the age of thirty has actually watched that.
> 
> I find putting y/n instead of a name a bit jarring, so feel free to pretend she’s called Shelley or Carla or whatever. 
> 
> Also apologies, but nearly all my fics are from a female perspective, ‘cause ‘that’s.. what I.. am.’ (guess the reference - no, I’ll stop now, promise..)


End file.
